


Paranoia

by Sheeana



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 18:32:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5059570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheeana/pseuds/Sheeana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She just needs a little more time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paranoia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quantumvelvet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quantumvelvet/gifts).



The headaches were getting worse. Not just a faint pressure anymore. A drilling, boring pain that went right into her skull and kept her awake when she sorely needed sleep, kept her from making those perfect headshots where they counted most.

Headaches in the middle of a war were nothing new. Stress. Lack of sleep. Biotic implants. Dealing with politicians. There were more than enough explanations for Shepard to pretend – to everyone else, but most importantly to herself – that everything was fine. That her mind was still her own. Someone had to keep it together, or everyone was going to suffer the consequences.

Sometimes she thought about throwing her hands up and walking away, letting them all reap what they'd sown. (Of all the metaphors she could have chosen.) She couldn't even remember anymore: what would she have done before Cerberus? Before Saren? Who was she? _What_ was she?

Sometimes she found herself wondering if Saren was right all along.

Once she looked in the mirror and saw the Illusive Man's eyes staring back at her from her own face.

_Stress. Lack of sleep. Biotic implants._

Every time, she made herself stop. Made herself take a deep breath. Made herself let it out slowly. She couldn't walk away. Saren was never right. She was still human. She could win this.

Or she could be the single well-placed bullet that toppled the entire galaxy from within.

As if they were all oblivious, everyone was always asking about her, a litany of concerned voices:

_"Are you getting enough sleep, Shepard?"_

_"You okay, Shepard?"_

_"If you need to take a break, Shepard, no one will hold it against you..."_

"Are you even listening, Shepard?"

"Sorry?" She managed to politely raise her eyebrow at Garrus's well-meaning but lightly-teasing question.

"I was just saying how there was a moment in that meeting when I actually thought you might pull your gun on Han'Gerrel. Not that I could blame you."

She laughed, right on cue, but after she stumbled through the rest of the conversation, she had to stop and catch herself on the wall outside the battery while she struggled to breathe through what felt like a punch to the gut from a krogan battlemaster. She could pull her gun on a quarian admiral, and _no one would blame her._

She trusted the people she'd brought along for the ride. That hadn't changed. She trusted them, each and every one of them, but she wasn't sure she could _rely_ on them. Because any one of them would do her the courtesy of putting a bullet through her head if she were compromised, but she couldn't be sure which of them would crack under the pressure of making that choice. Hell, she couldn't even be sure if any of them were compromised themselves. Blind trust was the only option. Blind trust and the desperate hope that she'd see the signs before it was too late.

All she needed was more time. Just a few more hours. A few more days. A few more weeks. She could win this. She had to win this. So she kept strapping on her armor, kept holstering her gun on her back, and kept going to those interminable diplomatic meetings or going out and giving the enemy hell, because there was no one else and they were out of time. And through it all there was a never-ending refrain going through her head:

_Not yet. Not yet. Not yet._


End file.
